


Sometimes A Cigarette

by Blacktablet (Ishamaeli)



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, RPF, RPS - Freeform, Shameless Smut, Smoking, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishamaeli/pseuds/Blacktablet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An expression of understanding crosses the man’s face suddenly. “You are an actor, Mr Firth,” he declares and takes a drag off his cigarette.</p>
<p>There is no filter in the thin roll, he notices absently. He wonders if the taste would be much different. “Yes. How... How did you know?”</p>
<p>“You know how I know.”</p>
<p>“It is absurd.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes A Cigarette

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend as per a request a long time ago, then found while wandering through my archives and released into the wild.

The man sitting in the chair has his legs crossed at the knee. A thin white cigarette is dangling from the long, graceful fingers of his right hand, held far away enough so that the ashes won’t fall on the well-cut dark grey jacket. His posture is both relaxed and in control at once, and curiosity has curled his thin lips into a faint smile.

The room smells of smoke, dark and spicy in a way that reminds Colin of the restaurants in London that serve food from places he’s never been to but wants to go some day. Indian tobacco, perhaps; he can’t quite tell.

An expression of understanding crosses the man’s face suddenly. “You are an actor, Mr Firth,” he declares and takes a drag off his cigarette.

There is no filter in the thin roll, he notices absently. He wonders if the taste would be much different. “Yes. How... How did you know?”

“You know how I know.”

“It is absurd.”

The smile widens. “But you said it yourself! After the initial shock had passed, of course.”

Colin shifts on his feet uncertainly, opens his mouth once or twice before forcing out the retort that is expected. “I said you _look_ like Sherlock Holmes.”

“The reason to that should be fairly obvious, really,” the man murmurs into his cigarette with a indulgent glance at him. “As to how I knew that you’re an actor... You articulate clearly and speak slowly enough to be understood. You are constantly aware of your body, your movements. You also copy my expressions without noticing that you’re doing it. All the signs of a man who performs to an audience regularly.”

“I could be a politician.”

The other man barks an amused laugh and inclines his head in acknowledgement. “A close acquaintance of mine often says that all the successful politicians are either very charismatic men, or very good actors. Possible, but unlikely.” He reaches over to a small table to tap off the ashes into a low glass bowl. “We fall back on what we know in times of distress and you, my good man, have been acting for the past ten minutes that we have conversed.”

“Well,” Colin begins indignantly and stops abruptly as soon as he realises that the impatient, high-class tone of voice is the one he developed for the role of Mr Darcy years ago. His posture is ramrod straight, too, and he makes a conscious effort to loosen his shoulders, rolling them under the white polo-neck jumper he’s wearing.

The man – Holmes - but it’s _insane_ \- has the grace not to gloat. He merely raises one dark eyebrow and nods to himself. “Much better. I was wondering what kind of a man you are.”

“Couldn’t you deduce that?” he snaps sarcastically. Something in the man’s expression changes - a tightening of the strong jaw, a narrowing of the grey eyes - and it makes him look resigned, as if the snide words are all too familiar to him.

Colin regrets the remark, then. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“You did, Mr Firth, but I accept your apology. If you had let me finish, I would have said that you’re a very good actor.”

He chuckles despite himself. “Or a very charismatic man.”

Holmes gives him a long look. “Fortunately for you, you have the advantage of being both.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Holmes stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray with a graceful twist of his wrist and stands up, all long limbs and liquid grace, to advance on Colin. He takes an instinctive step back first and then catches on when Holmes comes to a stop in front of him, raking his eyes over his body and quirking an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Wasn’t that kind of thing illegal in—in—back then?”

“Very,” Holmes replies and the smell of spicy tobacco grows stronger. “The practice of sodomy is considered illegal, criminal, degrading and revolting. Absolutely _filthy_.” A quick flash of tongue behind white teeth at the last word, obscene and arousing, where Holmes forms the syllables into a caress. A promise. “You intrigue me, Mr Firth.”

Colin swallows and resists the cartoonish urge to pull at the neck of his jumper. The man is entirely too close; barely a foot separates them, and he is caught in the gaze of those darkened eyes. “I don’t—That is, you can’t—” And the regal, if irritated, tones of George VI are there, unfortunaly accompanied by the stutter.

A warm hand catches his wrist in a strong grip and pulls. Colin resists initially, but then a blunt fingernail scrapes over the sensitive skin of his inner wrist and he steps forward with a gasp. He automatically puts a hand out for support; it lands on the other man’s waist.

He snatches it back as quickly as he can, but the memory of warmth lingers. “How dare you—”

“Presume? Oh, I presume many things about you. I presume that you will soon disrobe, and in half an hour I will have you on my bed, eager to be briskly sodomised.”

“I think not!” Colin splutters in reply to the confident words, and fails to reclaim his hand back.

In the midst of this struggle, he fails to notice that Holmes is leaning closer and closer with a predatory look in his grey eyes until a hand buries itself in his hair and tugs him forward into a demanding kiss.

Colin parts his lips in surprise, which is immediately taken advantage of. Holmes’s mouth is warm against his, tasting of spices and the tobacco he smoked earlier. It sends an unexpected spike of want into his mind, a craving for cigarettes that he hasn’t felt in a long while.

The feeling moprhs into slow-burning arousal when the kiss continues, Holmes sucking Colin’s lower lip into his mouth and lightly dragging his teeth over it. There is something different in kissing a man than a woman, a sense of quiet strength beneath the surface that excites Colin.

The hand that he removed from the other man’s hip returns there in an admission of defeat - or perhaps acceptance - and Holmes makes an appreciative sound. He pulls back to sigh contently and his hand cards through Colin’s hair, tugging gently on the strands that get caught in his fingers.

The man certainly looks more composed than Colin feels, with his dark hair still immacutely slicked back and the only signs of what they have been doing being his pink-tinted cheeks, and his reddened lips that are shining with saliva in the firelight.

Holmes doesn’t say anything; he merely takes Colin’s hand and presses his palm against the crotch of the finely tailored trousers that are bulging at the front and hot to touch. Colin draws in a sharp breath, squeezes lightly to see Holmes bare his neck and slide his eyes closed with pleasure. Colin bends forward to taste the skin of Holmes’s neck, salty and warm, and breathes hotly on it, letting loose a moan that he’s been holding back since Holmes stalked towards him with obvious intent.

Colin doesn’t even think about it; he drops to his knees on the carpet, not caring about how his joints protest, or about rugburn. He isn’t as young as he was the last time he did this but the memories are vivid enough. When he closes his eyes to nuzzle Holmes’s cock through his trousers, the light from the fireplace casts red shadows through his eyelids. Combined with the musky smell flooding his nostrils and the hardness against his cheek, it makes him feel like a true hedonist, lost in the pleasures of sensation and flesh.

Holmes’s fingers return to his hair, encouraging him forward. Colin fumbles with the fastenings of the old-fashioned trousers - he will never complain about a jammed zip again, he swears to himself - and when he finally reaches inside to grasp the erect member and draw it out, the grip on his hair has grown impatient and the breathing above more ragged.

He obediently opens his mouth over Holmes’s cock to lave at the head with his tongue and to engulf it in the heat of his mouth. He sucks eagerly; the salty taste and the way his lips are forced to stretch over the girth of the cock make his own member harden. He wraps the hand not clutching onto Holmes’s hip for support around what he can’t fit into his mouth, keeping his hold firm.

Holmes’s hips jerk forward in tiny movements as Colin continues to lick and suckle him. It takes a sharp tug on his hair and an insistent push to convey Holmes’s wishes; he pauses for a second before moving both hands to rest on the defined hipbones that fit into his palms.

“Good boy,” Holmes says huskily, and surprised embarrasment causes flush to rise on Colin’s cheeks right as Holmes starts fucking his mouth, slowly at first. The head of his cock hits the back of Colin’s throat with every few thrusts when he pushes deep, and it causes him to gag slightly and makes swallowing impossible; soon enough saliva starts dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

Holmes caresses his cheek with one hand, slides it down to cup his chin and push his thumb into his mouth along with his cock. He keeps it there and forces Colin’s mouth more open, watching closely the length disappearing between his lips and sliding back out, shining with his saliva and dark red in colour.

Colin makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking up; the sheer want in Holmes’s eyes nearly makes him come in his trousers, or at least makes him wish he could. He tightens his lips around the cock in his mouth and teases Holmes’s thumb with his tongue, all the while keeping eye contact. Holmes’s breath hitches.

Breathing is becoming increasingly difficult for Colin, too, because it feels like his lungs just can’t take enough air. He isn’t about to try and stop, though. He gulps in air when Holmes pulls back, instead, and breathes through his nose when his mouth is otherwise occupied. He is startled when Holmes takes himself in hand and pulls completely out, brushing against his lips with the slick head of his cock before taking half a step back.

“What a sight you make,” Holmes whispers and brushes out the tangles in Colin’s hair. “So wanton.”

There are no mirrors in the room, but Colin can easily guess at what he looks like; cheeks flushed, eyes bright, red-lipped mouth still slightly open, unconsciously hungry for more and feeling the loss of the previous fullness.

“I don’t,” he starts, but Holmes doesn’t let him finish; he bends down to help him up and claims his lips with his own. He licks into Colin’s mouth and chases his own taste inside, his tongue brushing against Colin’s teeth and moving sensuously with his tongue in a blatant imitation of sex.

Colin shudders against him and moans, fingers reaching blindly for the grey waistcoat. Holmes lets him open it with fumbly movements and push both it and the jacket off the taller man’s shoulders. He lets his hands wander over Holmes’s strong back, constantly surprised by how warm the man is. He feels like he is burning up when Holmes sucks on a spot below his jaw, mouthing his way over to his ear. Colin thrusts against the thigh that Holmes pushes between his legs, angled _just so_ , and a needy sound escapes his throat.

“My bed, as I said,” Holmes reminds him, breathing the words directly into Colin’s ear, and starts to push him backwards.

Colin doesn’t object.

They somehow make it to the bedroom that is adjacent to the sitting room without incident. It seems to Colin that Holmes’s hands get everywhere while he is distracted by the confident kisses; first the jumper is pulled off of him, then there is a possessive touch on his arse, and almost before he notices it, Holmes presses one more kiss to his lips and then shoves him onto the neatly made bed. He trips over his trousers that have made their way to his ankles without him noticing and lets out a disbelieving laugh.

Holmes tuts at him with a slightly amused expression while removing the rest of his own clothing. “Do you prefer to be taken from behind or face to face?” he asks, eyes roaming over Colin’s now bare body and spending an indecent amount of time studying his erect cock.

Colin imagines Holmes thrusting powerfully into him from behind, large hands gripping his hips, and gasps out his reply almost before he’s done thinking about it.

Holmes smirks tellingly and reaches to open a bedside drawer. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what is in the vial he pulls out. “On your knees, Mr Firth,” he rumbles. “Lean on your forearms, it’ll be... easier for you.”

As soon as Colin gets his legs under him, there’s an oil-slicked finger sliding between the cheeks of his arse and pressing against his entrance. He means to tell Holmes to slow down but the words are lost in a strangled gasp when the finger pushes smoothly inside. He rests his forehead on his arms and tries to relax, tries not to keen at the sensation of the single finger stretching him.

It feels invasive at first, strange, but Holmes finds the right spot soon enough and has Colin biting the fleshy part of his palm to stay quiet. It feels important for some reason to not make too much noise, to not react too tellingly, even though his skin feels like it’s on fire. He isn’t touching himself; he wants to enjoy the teasing, the lowly simmering heat in his groin.

Another finger slides in with the first. It takes Colin a moment to realise that he’s shamelessly pushing back, knees spread so wide on the bed that he’s almost lying on his stomach. The fingers in him scissor and the slight burn of the stretch is welcome as it clears his head a little, enough to wonder about his own behaviour.

Not that Holmes gives him much time to be clear-headed. He bends over Colin and scrapes his teeth over his top-most vertebrae while at the same time pushing his fingers in more forcefully. “You do want it, don’t you?” he asks demandingly. “My prick in your tight arse. You’d beg for it if I kept you waiting for long enough.”

Colin bites his lip as the fingers twist sharply and brush across his prostate. “Arrogant,” he forces out. “Won’t do you any good.”

Holmes drags his fingers against the edge of Colin’s hole when he pulls them out. He squirms at the feeling. “I think not,” Holmes says dismissively, and then the slicked head of his cock is pushing in.

Colin moans, eyes rolling back in his head. Holmes takes it slow, his sweaty hands slipping on Colin’s skin until he finds a good hold at his waist. He doesn’t pause to let the other man adjust but rather keeps going until he is fully seated inside, hips flush against Colin’s behind and rubbing in circles against him.

Colin feels like he might come if Holmes so much as breathes. “Wait,” he gasps pleadingly, voice strained. “Wait, I’ll—Give me a _second_.”

Holmes mutters an affirmative and stays still for exactly five seconds.

Colin shouts at the first thrust, whimpers at the second and pushes back into the third, the full feeling only serving to make him crave more. Holmes fucks him exactly like he imagined, thrusting forcefully and steadily into him. He doesn’t touch Colin’s straining cock at all, and Colin can’t risk removing one hand to touch himself, lest he fall on his face. 

He is reduced to panting and the occasional drawn out moan while Holmes sets the pace. Arousal gathers at the base of his spine but the other man seems to sense when he’s getting close; he slows down or distracts Colin with blunt fingernails on his back every time his breath starts hitching in time with Holmes’s pounding into him. His cock is dripping on the formerly crisp sheets, and sweat of exertion makes his back so slick that finally Holmes loses his grip and lands on him with a muffled exclamation.

Holmes grunts and tries to pull himself up but only manages to trap Colin between his arms where he supports himself on the bed. The sensation is wholly different when the other man is so close to him; his thrusts are shorter and faster, his chest rubs on Colin’s back and his still faintly tobacco-tainted breath is hot on his neck.

“You know the word,” Holmes says, pausing to draw a breath. Colin nearly cries out with frustration. “Mr Firth.” He wouldn’t have believed his name could sound so filthy coming from the lips of a proper British gentleman. “Come now, it isn’t that difficult.” Who is admittedly balls-deep in his arse.

“Please,” he mutters into his arms, hips twitching uncontrollably when he seeks friction somewhere, _anywhere_. He’s so close to coming he can practically taste the pleasure. He clenches involuntarily against the intrusion, and Holmes hisses behind him.

“Come again?”

He grimaces. “Very fucking - ah! - funny. Please. Please, fuck me harder, please, make me come, please, just bloody well _fuck_ me.”

Holmes laughs breathlessly and obliges him. He sneaks one arm under Colin, trusting him to be able to take more of their weight, and caresses him with sure movements. His hand slides over Colin’s stomach, rubbing over the trail of hair that leads down to where Holmes finally, finally cups Colin’s cock.

It doesn’t take much; a few strokes and Colin shouts open-mouthed, completely losing control of his body as it spasms and jerks due to the force of his orgasm. He spills all over the rumpled sheets; Holmes keeps stroking him in time with his thrusts, and the combined sensation of being fucked and frigged makes his head spin.

It eventually becomes too much. Colin makes a desperate noise and Holmes removes his hand, although he doesn’t stop the slow rocking back and forth, cock hard and heavy inside.

“Please,” Colin whimpers into the sheets. “Please, it’s, too much...”

“Hush now,” Holmes says in a low tone and runs a calming hand down his back.

He fucks Colin’s pliant body with langurous thrusts until he comes, shuddering and pushing abruptly in as deep as he can. Even after that he doesn’t pull out but stays close, stroking Colin’s heaving sides. “Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“Nngh,” Colin agrees, ready to collapse on the bed, wet spot or no wet spot. Holmes rolls him gently onto his side, though, and lies down close behind him. The uncomfortable feeling of semen dripping out of him makes him squirm but the sure caress Holmes gives his backside makes him stop.

“I should like to do that again when you wake up,” he hears when he is on the border between wakefulness and exhausted sleep, and then he hears nothing but feels a soft kiss pressed to the back of his head, and that is the only thing that remains in his memory when he wakes up in the morning.

That, and an unexpected craving for a cigarette.


End file.
